


Our Love is an Orchard of Peaches

by daretogobeyondtheunknown



Series: In This Garden We Built [1]
Category: (여자)아이들 | (G)I-DLE
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 17:15:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30109341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daretogobeyondtheunknown/pseuds/daretogobeyondtheunknown
Summary: At thirty, Shuhua has accomplished most of her childhood goals.She became a singer, debuting with one of the most prolific groups of a generation. She became an actress, critically acclaimed and highly sought after. She even has a handful of investments under her belt.It is the blessing she worked arduously to have.Yet one childhood dream sticks out, unaccomplished, like a sore thumb and Shuhua is determined to change that.///“Your grandfather built me this garden, Yeh Shuhua. We were young and it was not easy.”
Relationships: Seo Soojin/Yeh Shuhua
Series: In This Garden We Built [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2215620
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	Our Love is an Orchard of Peaches

**Author's Note:**

> Different languages are denoted by the following stylisation:  
> Korean  
>  **Taiwanese/Mandarin**
> 
> Disclaimer: Please note that this is a fictitious piece of work based off the dynamics of factual individuals. It is in no way meant to speculate or draw assumptions on the personal lives of these individuals.

**_March 28, 2030_ **

Save for the other passengers off the red eye from Shanghai, the airport is quiet. 

The attendant wishes her welcome, escorting her with a smile to the baggage claim area. Shuhua knows it isn’t necessary, her security detail present at her side with a member of airport security trailing behind, but she appreciates the gesture.

**“Shu!”** The faces of old friends, familiar through early morning video calls and late-night texts engulf her. It is chaotic, filled with squeals of excitement and full body laughter louder than a playground full of school aged children. The airport security is understandably on edge, but the calm nature of her security detail seems to put him at ease. 

Out of the corner of her eyes, Shuhua catches the attendant’s bright smile before she disappears. 

**“Ah, to be young,”** A stranger says in passing, a smile blooming on their lips at the overzealous energy the small group exudes. 

The attendant returns with Shuhua’s luggage in tow. Again, it isn’t necessary, and Shuhua breaks from the animated huddle to express her gratitude. The attendant smiles, happy to help, and departs with warm wishes on Shuhua’s upcoming drama. 

When she returns her attention to the conversation, Shuhua hasn’t missed much; the banter is banal and on subjects she has had little time to follow. Not that she would, the subjects inconsequential to the future she is slowly painting. It is nice though, the way she doesn’t have to strain to hear or ask anyone to slow down or repeat their words. 

Shuhua laughs as she catches the tail end of a joke that actually makes sense. 

Airport security encourages them to move along, directing them to a cordoned off section where Shuhua can go without attracting further attention. It isn’t that the traffic of the airport is overly busy at this time, the digital clock on the far wall reading ungodly early, but Yeh Shuhua is not a name that goes unnoticed, even in an uncrowded room. 

Especially not in Taiwan.

* * *

**“How was the flight?”**

Combing through her suitcase, Shuhua frowns. _Green. Green. Where-_

**“Yah! Why aren’t you paying attention to me?!”** The voice rings off the walls of her childhood - turned guest - room like notes resonating through a half-filled glass moments before it breaks. Shuhua had always thought that an ocean’s distance would be enough. Clearly, no ocean is far enough to dampen _anything_ about Song Yuqi. 

**“Yeah, yeah.”** The tone is light and dismissive, **“I listen. Sometimes.”** The way Yuqi dissolves into that over-the-top sulking has Shuhua in stitches, rolling atop the pile of clothes she’s strewn about the floor. Like this, it is easy to forget the distance that separates them. It is easy to forget the week and then some that has passed between this call and their last. It is all very easy when talking with Yuqi is like falling back into an old comfort that just settles in your bones like warm sun on a summer's day. 

“Pabo.”

With an affectionate smile sketched across her lips that she knows Yuqi cannot see, Shuhua chirps back, **“So, have they kicked you off your show yet?”** The reaction is like gold. From the piercing _yah_ that crackles through the phone’s speaker to the indecipherably long winded rant punctuated with hip new slang, Shuhua finds it undeniably hilarious. Time can pass but some things remain the same. Shuhua can’t help but feel reminiscent as she rolls onto her side, the button of some article of clothing digging into the skin where her elbow meets the hard edge. 

Her clothes are definitely going to wrinkle.

* * *

**“Dinner is ready.”** The voice is soft around the edge with an undertone of authority. 

As a child, Shuhua can recall dozens of times when the undertone had been more abrupt; more pointed. Often, it would creep in when Shuhua would refuse to budge, adamant to stand for whatever injustice she had felt was worth defending at that given time. 

**“Aunty!”** Yuqi yells, her voice crackling through the speaker of the phone. In the background, Shuhua can hear rushed whispers followed by an apology and slightly softer, **“Aunty!”** Nothing about it is all that much softer. There are no follow up whispers so Shuhua can only surmise that they have simply accepted the reality that is Song Yuqi. 

Shuhua glances down at her phone. The time that stares back is later than she would have thought though it isn’t any surprise. What they lack in frequency is often made up in duration, minutes turning into hours of back and forth banter. On the odd occasion, the banter melts into heavy heartfelt conversations that usually end with Yuqi reminding Shuhua just how soft she has become; soft and gooey. 

Distance is supposed to make the heart fonder but Shuhua supposes Yuqi can be the exception. After all there is room for only one; one name that, no matter the distance, always lingers in the back of Shuhua’s throat, itching to emerge. 

**“- lucky! I wish I was eating home cooked-”**

Rolling her eyes, Shuhua topples over onto the pile of half folded clothes. Talking with Yuqi has not been productive; the pile of clothes beneath her serving as a stark reminder. Shuhua had intended to remove them from her suitcase: check. She had intended to tuck them neatly into the nearby dresser: no check. From the questioning eyes of her mother, letting her clothes remain in a lumpy pile on the floor for the next week feels like that certain answer that is nowhere to be seen in the multiple choice options. 

“I’m hanging up.” Shuhua states, the words coming off her tongue rough like sandpaper. Something about the way her mother is standing with an attentive gaze in the doorway has Shuhua feeling a little more conscious than she has any reason to be feeling. There is nothing about lying on the floor in a pile of her own clothes that should make her feel uncomfortable, or whatever this feeling swirling around her stomach is. 

“Text me later, okay?” The change in tones says everything. It is an understanding that is born out of a similar circumstance; it is a mirror they both hold with ghosts and memories staring back that no one else can see. **“Bai Aunty!”** The high register is atrocious. Shuhua disconnects the call before she can slip out any teasing remarks about Yuqi and puberty that will certainly bring a frown to her mother’s lips.

**“She sounds healthy. Is she eating well?”**

Rising to her feet, Shuhua brushes out the micro creases that are non-existent in her clothes. **“Yeah, she is. Yuqi just complains a lot because she hasn’t been home in a while.”** It is true, for the most part. Yuqi is healthy - _probably_ \- and she is eating well - _probably_ \- and Shuhua knows she misses her family in Beijing - _definitely_. But they aren’t teenagers anymore treading water with weighted vests out in the middle of the ocean hoping to find solid ground. No, they’re adults now. Adults with different lives; different aspirations. 

Sometimes it aches, deep in her chest, when the reality of it settles in. When Shuhua realises that Yuqi won’t be at her next radio interview. When Shuhua realises Yuqi isn’t backstage, she isn’t behind the scenes, and the young teenager she would speak with when their trainers weren’t looking, the rushed whispers of a familiar language flooding past her lips, is all grown up and living her best life. 

Sometimes it really aches. 

As she follows her mother down the hall, Shuhua thumbs out a quick text. 

_Susan:_ I’ll eat extra for you.

_Woogie:_ Say that to my face!

Shuhua laughs, chest shaking, as she reads the response. Her mother shoots her a questioning gaze that she reassuringly waves off. Pocketing her phone, Shuhua skips down the last few stairs and slides into the kitchen area with a deafening, **“Thank you for the food!”**

She won’t say she loves Yuqi or that she misses her. It isn’t them, never has been them, and the very thought of the sentiment sends shivers running down her spine. Instead, Shuhua makes a mental note to place an order of food that Yuqi can enjoy with her crew after dinner. It won’t replace the taste of home or the hollow feeling Shuhua knows Yuqi gets after long periods away from her parents, but Yuqi likes gestures. 

Not that Shuhua has ever noticed.

* * *

Dinner comes and goes. 

Her mother had made some of her childhood favourites for which Shuhua is grateful. While they might not be her favourites any more, there will always be something about the way her mother cooks that Shuhua will never grow weary of. 

**“Your aunt will be here at noon tomorrow.”** Shuhua’s father says as he rises from the table. His shoulders are broad and he stands at just above average height with clean cut hair that is common for men his age. The clothes he wears are neat and neutral toned. Shuhua can’t recall a time when he has ever worn anything different. **“Will you need anything from me?”** He asks as if Shuhua is a teenager who might need lunch money for an outing with her aunt. 

“Ani- **No.** ” Shuhua catches her slip midword. Years have taught her that there is no perfect switch that exists in her brain when it comes to language. The tie of some words to emotions in Korean have simply become stronger than in Taiwanese and Shuhua knows that none of that is wrong. It can certainly make for interesting conversations though. 

Her father nods and exits the kitchen. His footsteps echo down the hall and Shuhua knows that he will likely spend the remainder of his evening in his office catching up on emails and calls. 

**“It is very thoughtful of you to help your aunt.”** Shuhua’s mother smiles at her as she clears the dishes from the table. **“She’s been so busy lately with planning your cousin’s wedding.”** As she turns to the sink, Shuhua waits for the customary follow up questions: _When are you going to settle down? When are you going to get married? When are you going to have children?_

They don’t come. 

**“I love a-má.”** Shuhua proclaims with certainty when her mother does not continue. Elbow deep in hot soapy water, her mother nods. She does not deny Shuhua her sentiment though from the way her shoulders have settled, Shuhua realises her mother does not think it can be that simple.

Perhaps that is a difference they will always face because to Shuhua it is that simple; it has always been that simple. 

**“I know, Shuhua.”** The dishes clatter against each other in the drying rack. Why her mother still refuses to use the perfectly good dishwasher, Shuhua does not understand. **“It must be difficult. You’re so busy.”**

She is; busy, that is. But busy does not mean impossible and Shuhua has always found ways to make time for the important things in her life. Perhaps it has not always looked the way she wanted or been in the time she has planned but that’s just life. 

Shuhua bites back the response she wants to give. As a child, Shuhua was adamant to stand her ground. As an adult, she has learned to pick her battles. **“How is everyone?”** The question is the olive branch her mother takes, launching into a recount of the events that have transpired since they last spoke.

* * *

**_March 29, 2030_ **

While she might share several of the same features as her mother - from the structure of her cheeks to the shape of her frame - Shuhua is the near carbon copy of her aunt in every other way. 

In her early days as an idol, when she had visited Shuhua in Seoul, the other members had joked that if they ever needed an older, cooler replacement, Shuhua’s aunt would be the first person they would call. It was hard to contain the laughter when her aunt had gamely struck a handful of poses she had seen in one of Shuhua’s more recent V-Lives. She was an instant hit. 

**“Ah, Yeh Shuhua!”** The older woman chimed as she crushed Shuhua in a hug; her level of affection was the antithesis to that of her father. 

Returning the embrace with equal vigour, Shuhua slipped into a sappy tone worthy of every cringe award possible, **“A-koo!”**

Her parents are far more reserved in their greetings, exchanging a few words while Shuhua slips into her crocs. On her head sits a worn ball cap she received from a fan in L.A. It fits with the light grey hoodie and black shorts, both loose hanging to add obscurity to the shape of her frame. It is by no means perfect, the black surgical mask adding the final touch, but for most it will do. 

Outside her security detail waits. 

It is a part of her life that Shuhua isn’t the most fond of. Sometimes, she feels more like a child being babysat than an adult with any real authority. But, after a few close calls, Shuhua has learned to appreciate Su’s presence. **“Hey.”** He nods in acknowledgement before escorting them into the nearby vehicle. 

Thankfully, the first store her aunt has in mind isn’t far. There are only a few things left on the list before her grandmother’s 80th birthday this coming Saturday. Most are trivial - _find brown socks_ \- and could easily be done online from the comforts of literally anywhere. But then there are some - _hire a contractor to re-landscape the front garden_ \- that has Shuhua wondering just what it is her aunt has planned that could possibly require re-landscaping. But Shuhua doesn’t object, happy to simply trail alongside the woman in question, listening intently as she explains why black is a superior colour - _shade_ \- of placemat to green. 

Like the conversations in the airport with her old friends, Shuhua finds little depth to the content of the conversation. After all, they’re just placemats. But it is the way the voice pitches, and her aunt just seems so passionate about placemats, that Shuhua finds herself compelled to go along: black is superior to green. 

She just won’t tell Miyeon that. 

**“What about this one?** ” The woman holds up another black placemat that looks astoundingly similar to the last. Su offers a look of sympathy over the table of frilly doilies. 

**“Looks, ugh...”** Shuhua squints. Maybe, if she stares hard enough, an adjective to describe the near identical piece of cloth will jump out. When it doesn’t, Shuhua settles for two thumbs up and a, **“Looks black to me!”**

Her aunt laughs and pinches her cheeks uncomfortably hard.

* * *

They arrive back at the house in time for dinner. 

Everything on the list is done, or at least assigned. There is a small list of things Shuhua has been given to do over the coming days. Things like find brown socks though she still doesn’t understand why. 

The landscaper is scheduled to visit her grandmother’s orchard on Tuesday. Shuhua realises it has nothing to do with the party and more to do with some weird plant disease Shuhua swears up and down is not a real word. Nothing that long should be a word. But the man seemed confident, rolling it off his tongue as if he was talking about weather. So Shuhua hopes that, if it is unfortunately a real word, at least he can fix it. 

Her aunt stays for dinner. She teases Shuhua’s father; from the way he still has his jeans pressed to the incessant need to part his hair. He remains stoic, nodding along to the exuberant excitement that oozes from his older sister, unphased by her spirited nature and teasing jests. Since Shuhua can recall, this is how it has always been. 

Su declines the invitation to join them for dinner. It is received by assurances from her mother that he will not be intruding but Su bows and declines again. Shuhua understands that her mother has a fondness for him; any mother would for the man that protects their child. But Su has a family, a wife and a newborn on the way. Better than most, Shuhua understands how hard it can be to be separated from the ones you love the most for such long stretches of time.

It aches. 

Later - after her aunt has left, her father has retreated to his office and her mother has retired to her room - Shuhua sits alone. The script for an upcoming drama lays open on her lap. She has read it a dozen times - front to back, top to bottom, side to side. She knows every word by heart and every nuance of the character she will play is seared into the fibers of her muscles. She will move like them. She will breath like them. She will _be them_.

Like an art, Shuhua has learned to assume the identity of each and every role she has ever been assigned. 

Sometimes though, on nights like this, Shuhua wants to shed it all, itching away layer after layer until all that is left is the raw skin beneath. The real Yeh Shuhua. The one who believes her beauty is more than the glamour that can be painted upon her face, obscuring her natural imperfections. The one who despises the liars, the fakes and the people who hide away behind shields of falsehood to slew words of hatred like mud at anything until eventually, something sticks. The one who will fight to embody loyalty until her very last breath. The one who loves with the ferocity of a lioness. 

Shuhua wants to love with her lioness heart. 

The screen of her phone is black though and the love she wants to give goes unreceived. The messages she wants to read in kind and the words she wants to hear are not there. 

* * *

**_April 1, 2030_ **

The spring in Taoyuan is her favourite season. 

In Seoul, the spring is always marked by the melting of snow. Beneath the blanket of white, hues of brown dotted with patches of green slowly start to come into view. The trees morph from barren to fragile buds, like little promises for a brighter tomorrow. 

In Taoyuan, everything is different. By the spring, the peach blossoms are in full bloom. The fragrance is gentle and often mingles with the aromas of the market stalls. They aren’t as plentiful as they once were, her a-má would say while tending to her orchard of peach trees, but they are the symbol of Taoyuan and their fragrance will never fade. 

Her a-má is still right. Even in the heart of the Taoyuan metropolis, the fragrance wafts in through the open doors of the cafe. It is as far removed from the orchards as one can possibly be and yet, clear as day, they are all Shuhua can smell. It’s perfect.

Well, almost perfect.

**“Hello, what can we make for you today?”**

Drawn from her thoughts, Shuhua smiles. It is hidden behind the fabric of her mask and a hoodie that drowns half of her frame, but it creeps into the corners of her eyes. She orders peach iced tea, musing that it goes well with the season. The barista agrees recommending a pineapple pastry to accompany it. 

As she moves to gather her cup, forgoing the option of a pastry, her phone vibrates in her pocket. Politely she gives thanks for the tea, the assurance in her voice brazen in the gentle ambience of the café. The way the words roll off her tongue without conscious thought always delights her and if Shuhua is a little louder than necessary, well, it is all just excitement.

On the street, her identity is nearly indistinguishable from the next. Su is still _somewhere_ but Shuhua is grateful that he allows her this space. He doesn’t have to, most security details hovering over the shoulder of their charge like some looming black rain cloud, but Su seems to understand. While Shuhua would never change the path she chose, sometimes she just wants to be able to walk down the street and order her own drink. Sometimes, she just wants to pretend, for a moment, that she can enjoy these simple pleasures without someone expecting something of her; of being treated like her choices are something people own and can dictate because they’ve watched her shows or supported her career. 

Her phone vibrates again.

Digging out the item, Shuhua smiles at the message she finds. It is a greeting from Thailand; a picture of Minnie with a deep frown settled in her features at the fawning attention of her brothers. The caption to the image simply reads _Why?_

At first glance it might seem rude, almost dismissive. But Shuhua knows the adoration Minnie has for her brothers, hidden under all those layers of irritation that has Minnie looking moodier than a teenage girl going through puberty. Perhaps, it has more to do with the woman at her side with that crocodile-like smile; the real recipient of the men's fawning affection.

Taking a sip of her tea Shuhua chuckles, firing back a quick text before returning her phone to her pocket. The response is almost instant but a reply will have to wait. It is quarter past ten and Shuhua has fifteen minutes before her appointment. 

Thankfully, the building isn’t far. The entrance is grand; the tall glass doors and general ambience make it feel more like the lobby of some upscale hotel than that of a bank. In her baggy sweater and well worn crocs, Shuhua looks like a sight for sore eyes amidst the high end tailored suits and red bottom shoes. The stiff greeting of the attendant melts into frantic apologies as he takes in her identification card with wide eyes. With a few waves of her hand, Shuhua shrugs it off. Her goal isn’t to stick out and his cold shouldered reception is a mission accomplished.

**“Yeh Shuhua, welcome.”** The woman that swoops in is middle aged with speckles of white peeking through her curtain of dark hair. **“How are things in Seoul these days?”** She asks as she leads Shuhua away from the entrance and towards the set of elevators. Her office is on the fifth floor overlooking a small green space nestled in the urban landscape. With a lopsided smile, she offers Shuhua another drink and the pastry card for the day, recommending the croissant with a light chocolate drizzle. 

Shuhua goes with the box of assorted chocolates that is on the reverse side of the card and sticks with her peach iced tea. **“Cold. I think I lost my mind.”** It is the running joke that started when Shuhua had first opened her account. The weather had been abysmal that day in Seoul, delaying her flight two hours with a thick, wet snow that showed little plans of easing this turn of the century. When she finally arrived, two and a half hours late to the appointment, Shuhua had joked that she must have left her mind in Taoyuan when she first flew to South Korea, trading the beautiful weather of Taiwan for the North Pole and frozen toes of Seoul. 

**“Ah, well, it seems to be intact well enough.”** She chuckles. A knock on the oak door draws their attention and she pauses to wave in the assistant. The young woman at the door bows before shuffling in to hand Shuhua a box of Godiva chocolate and a small unmarked bag containing several Ferrero Rochers. **“Your investments are healthy. Shall we review the documents for your recent purchase and the amendments you requested?”**

Smiling down at the chocolates now in her lap, Shuhua hums thoughtfully, **“Please.** ” She motions towards the neatly arranged desk, **“Do you have something I could write on?”** A pen and notepad slide across the polished surface and Shuhua bows her head, **“Thanks.”**

Everything takes a few hours and Shuhua is grateful for the suggestion to order lunch halfway through. 

**“Is there anything else we can help you with while you’re here in Taoyuan?”**

Flipping to a clean sheet, Shuhua nods. She scribbles for a few minutes before tearing out the sheet and handing it to her accountant, **“Can you give this to the lady who brought these?”** She jiggles the bag of Ferrero Rochers, **“I really like them.”**

**“Of course, would you like-”** She motions to the phone and Shuhua nods. It doesn’t take long to call her junior assistant in and for Shuhua to hand over the note in person. The greetings are light, filled with a handful of compliments. Shuhua knows she doesn’t have to do this, add the little golden chocolates she has grown fond of over the years, but like the attendant in the airport, Shuhua is grateful for the added touch. It is the little details people notice that Shuhua has always appreciated; the unspoken words amidst the sea of chaotic energy she knows she can exude. 

Fifteen minutes later, as her accountant guides her back to the main entrance, the older woman earnestly asserts, **“Yeh Shuhua, you are the Gift of Taoyuan. May all your future endeavors be blessed.”**

With a bow, Shuhua leaves the tall glass doors with an odd feeling of warmth smeared in obligation blooming in her chest.

* * *

Su doesn't ask how her appointment went. 

It is another courtesy he gives that Shuhua appreciates, always allowing her to speak when she is ready. **"How is Wei-an feeling today?"**

**"She was nauseous this morning."** He responds as he changes lanes.

Su is a kind man with an even kinder wife. For years, they had struggled to have a child. It was only after a third failed attempt, Su showing faintly visible signs of distress, that Shuhua had finally learned of their struggles. Miscarriage was not uncommon but the conversation surrounding it was and the stigmas of inadequacy still seemed strongly attach to the experience. 

It had taken a few calls but within the week, Shuhua’s team had been able to make the arrangements for Su and his wife to visit one of the top in vitro clinics in Taoyuan. Shuhua can remember his frustrations, as clear as the blue sky that day, and his declaration against the assistance. Su wasn’t an old fashioned man but he was a proud one and his desire to provide for his family could sometimes cloud his judgement. 

Shuhua knew that feeling all too well, visited often by the little devil called pride. 

Proposing it in the form of contractual compensation, a bonus tacked on for services rendered, was the way Shuhua offered it. Perhaps, when she was younger, she would have demanded Su accept the financial backing, refusing to accept no for an answer. Now, she simply found more roundabout ways.

Whoever said money never made anyone happy clearly had no ability to see the problems an abundance of it could solve, too self absorbed in the trappings of their own lives. 

**“She says thank you.”** The streets outside begin to look familiar. “ **For the tea. She thinks it’s helping.”**

Shuhua made a mental note to ask Soojin to order more. 

**“We would like you to meet the child when it comes.”** Though his tone is neutral and his external demour calm, Shuhua can sense the underlying apprehension. She doesn’t understand why. Just like she knows she likes peaches and dislikes strawberries, Shuhua knows she will meet Su’s unborn child. 

**“Of course.”** There is no room for argument. Shuhua will meet this child and she will dote on this child just as a proper aunty should.

* * *

Su waits until Shuhua enters the house before pulling the car away from the curb. Inside, she can hear her mother in the kitchen, the smell of dinner wafting in the air. 

**“I’m home.”** She greets as she enters the kitchen. Tossing the empty take away cup, Shuhua reaches for a bottle of water in the fridge. She’s trying to be healthier. It is a work in progress though as the weight of chocolate in her left hand feels lighter than before. 

**“Welcome home.”** Her mother tosses the vegetables in a pan. **“How did your appointment go?”**

It has always amazed Shuhua how her mother can hold a conversation while she flits about the kitchen with three or four dishes all in different stages of preparation. **“Good.”** She replies but does not elaborate, setting the box of chocolate on the section of counter that is not in use. **“Here.”**

When she was little, finding chocolate in the house was a rare event usually reserved for special occasions. Though she couldn’t prove it, Shuhua assumed it had more to do with her over the top exuberance than any health or special occasion reasons, the idea of a Shuhua high on sugar being too much for her mother to handle. 

**“Thank you.”** After she had returned for the first since becoming a trainee, Shuhua can recall the ample supply of chocolate tucked into the food closet. **“Dinner will be ready soon.”**

* * *

Shuhua passes on dinner. 

She isn’t starving herself and it takes several minutes to assure her mother of this. It is a fragment of the dark side to the industry she has chosen and Shuhua will never deny how outrageous many of the expectations often are; unobtainable pedestals built by faceless villains, powerful only in the comforts of their anonymity, too scared to stand in the light of day and speak their words. 

Too scared to be the one to succeed - the visible face in the faceless sea. 

But that isn’t her. That is not who Shuhua will let anyone dictate she become. 

Closing the door behind her, Shuhua peels off the comforting fabric of her sweater. Years of habitual reminders - _Shuhua! Dirty laundry goes_ in _the basket_ \- has Shuhua dropping the article in the borrowed basket over some obscure patch of the floor. 

The room is too cold for her liking, the air conditioner likely set on high. Shuhua crawls under the covers, ignorant to the inner voice that chides her that she should probably shower first. The comfort of her old bed wraps around her like the arms of an old friend and the fragrance of peaches lingers in the air. It feels calming. 

Exhaling what feels like the weight of the world, Shuhua gives herself a moment to regather herself before opening her phone. 

_Mickey Mouse:_ Not funny!

A little lonely part of her heart fills as she scrolls through the sea of photos that have filled the conversation feed throughout the day. She disagrees with the sentiment, that it isn’t funny, as each progressive photo shows a deeper frown than the last.

It looks extremely funny.

Opening the unread message from Miyeon, Shuhua finds a clip of Minnie chasing two indistinguishable blobs Shuhua presumes are her older brothers. There is no caption to accompany it. Closing out the thread, Shuhua smiles as she texts Minnie back. 

_Yeh Wolf_ : Really? Because the way you run looks really funny. 

For good measure she forwards the short clip. The reaction does not disappoint. The words that dot across her screen are indecipherable and, if she strains hard enough, Shuhua swears can hear Minnie shouting at her in some Frankenstein concoction of every language she knows.

A second notification sounds. 

_Cho Di.B:_ Be nice. 

The short clip of Miyeon blowing kisses while sweetly adding, “We love and miss you!” erodes all seriousness from her previous message. Like most of Miyeon’s chidings, it leaves Shuhua feeling more loved than rebuked. 

Conversing back and forth for a handful of few minutes, Shuhua eventually concedes to the heavy pull on the lids of her eyes. That night, she dreams of Minnie running down the hall after her brothers, shouting in streams of Thai that sound far too threatening to match her Minnie Mouse pajamas. Behind the curtains of her dream land, Shuhua hears Miyeon calling, reminding Minnie that it isn’t safe to run inside the house. 

It seems even her dreams agree; it _is_ funny.

* * *

**_April 3, 2030_ **

The next handful of days feel like a haze. 

Shuhua bounces from one appointment to the next. Scheduled months in advance, she isn’t surprised. The little things add up though. Between the appointments, a handful of unexpected voice and video calls with her management team, and a few last minute changes her aunt makes to the party task list, dinner reservations with her parents slipped her mind. 

**“Shuhua, are you ready?”** Her mother asks from the door. She is wearing a light beige dress that suits her willowy frame. Her features are soft; almost delicate. The pale skin Shuhua has is a gift from her mother though the height is certainly not. While her mother is not towering, she certainly has a few inches on Shuhua. 

**“Oh.”** Her eyes dart from the pile of scripts littered across the surface of the desk to her mother then back to the scripts. **“Yes- I mean no.”** Tumbles out like water from the end of a hose, **“Not yet.”** Shuhua finally manages, sounding at least somewhat sure of her answer.

The smile her mother wears is visible in the corners of her eyes, **“We leave in twenty minutes. Please be ready by then.”**

At least Shuhua showered earlier. 

Slipping into the hall bathroom, Shuhua puts on a light application of makeup. She has never liked the heavy layers that would often be caked onto her skin when she would perform, erasing all of her blemishes. It was the gift her parents gave her - the imperfections in her skin, the structure of her bones - and Yeh Shuhua is happy to exist throughout her day in this state of gentleness. 

A counterbalance to her lioness roar. 

Choosing something to wear does not go quite as smoothly.

While she has little regard for the perception of the baggy clothes she wears or the non-designer labels, Shuhua does regard her parents. She regards them highly enough to consider them while she rummages through her clothes: no holes; higher neckline; clean, crisp lines. 

She isn’t a child anymore. Her parents can’t take away her television or internet privileges if she doesn’t abide by their rules. But it is a practice Shuhua likes to uphold, a subtle act of gratitude for the sacrifices her parents have made. 

Thankfully there is a pair of black wrinkle free ankle-length high waisted pants and a blouse to match in her luggage. Struggling, Shuhua tugs at the fabric. She trips over one of the pant legs, hopping as she tries to stay upright. Eventually, gravity wins and Shuhua tumbles back onto the mattress with an _ompf_. She doesn’t remember packing these but as she pulls them on, Shuhua could care less, they’re heaven sent. 

Heaven sent but ungodly skin tight.

With three minutes to spare, Shuhua is toeing on her shoes. 

The drive itself is filled with the sound of the fan and the traditional humming and hawings of any normal motor vehicle. The street lamps that light the car in passing are ill fit for the function of a reading light so Shuhua uses the light of her phone to pour over the pages of her script. 

It isn’t the most ideal place and outwardly might appear ignorant to most, Shuhua opting to work over fulfilling the role of doting daughter. However stories woven of external presumptions are rarely stories of truth and while Shuhua has not lived with them in years, many of her parents' predilections have not changed - silence in a moving vehicle included. 

Shuhua mouths along to the set of lines, brow furrowing as she pencils a note in the margin for later use. It isn’t until the vehicle rolls to a complete stop, her father putting it into park, that she looks up. Her mother chuckles softly as she scrambles to tuck the script away, obscuring it from the view of anyone who might walk by. 

Outside, the night air is cool. It has that heavy damp feeling Shuhua often missed during her first few winters away. 

Voices filter into the waiting area as the doors click closed behind them. The decor is nice - a cross between modern and traditional with shades of red and gold serving as accents to the primarily neutral palette. 

Shuhua can recall the handful of times her parents have chosen this restaurant over the years. It is typically for special occasions like her father’s promotion or to celebrate when her sisters’ got engaged. One day, her mother had whispered conspiratorially as they celebrated her younger sister’s engagement, they would celebrate her engagement here too. 

**“Please consider the evening special-”**

Ignoring the menu placed in front of her, Shuhua studied the people around her. From one table to the next, Shuhua is surprised by the brand name logos prominently displayed. Maybe this isn’t a restaurant. Maybe, secretly, this is dinner with a fashion show.

**“Ms. Yeh?”**

Shuhua expects the woman to be addressing her mother. From the throat clear to the attentive gaze the waitress gives it is clear her mother is not the Yeh in question. It feels odd, to sit at a table with her parents and be addressed as anything other than a child. **“Sorry, could you repeat that?”**

The woman smiles graciously. With an open palm, she motions to the menu Shuhua has yet to open, **“May I make some suggestions? The king crab arrived approximately an hour ago - it is a popular choice.”**

**“Ah,”** Shuhua smiles and shakes her head, **“Whatever my parents decide is fine.”** While Shuhua might have her preferences, the role to choose has always deferred to her parents. Part of the whole daughterly expectation thing.

The food arrives, dishes her parents have always enjoyed over the years spread across the surface of the table. There isn’t anything Shuhua won’t eat but it also lacks a few of the personal favourites she has been able to discover during their years apart. Not that she’s complaining.

Halfway through the meal, as the waiting staff are clearing away a handful of empty serving dishes, the velvety voice of her ringtone echoes from her pocket. Habitually, Shuhua draws it out, staring down at the screen with wide eyes.

When she was younger, her mother would have frowned, reminding her daughter that phones do not belong at the table. Now, her mother only smiles encouragingly. Maybe she can see the way Shuhua has been shifting in her seat, thoughts drifting from the conversation about the changes to the company structuring where her father works. Maybe it is a mother’s intuition. Whatever it is, Shuhua feels her shoulders sag in relief. 

Excusing herself from the table, she wanders into a quieter section of the restaurant to take the call. “Unnie.” 

“Shushu,” Shuhua strains to hear, covering one ear while her body shifts to block out the noise around her. She might be small but her spirit is not and by sheer will power alone, Shuhua will calm any roar that makes it too loud to hear Jeon Soyeon, “Congratulations! You did so well.”

If she melts into the praise no one is there to see, too occupied with the comings and goings of their own life to mind one woman tucked away in the corner - famous or not. Shuhua smiles fondly, “Thank you, Soyeon unnie.” The time must be late, as she counts the hours in her head and hears a yawn filter through the speaker, “Are you working?” Because when isn’t Soyeon working?

Shuhua’s heart swells at the small hum on the other end of the line. 

Soyeon offers to let her listen, playing back the months of work that are shaping into a melody that has Shuhua speechless. The elegant flow of the chorus reminds her of the flow of a river and the mid autumn festival. In awe, Shuhua listens as Soyeon paints an imagery for the music that she can almost taste. 

“It’s beautiful.” 

“Thanks.” There is no mistaking the bashfulness in her tone. She asks Shuhua for her thoughts. The response isn’t immediate, Shuhua mulling over the way the words settle in her chest and the imagery it paints in her mind. Only when she feels a sense of tangibility, something she can articulate, does she share any thoughts. The food waiting on her plate will go cold but moments like these are precious and Shuhua will eat cold food every night if it means more moments like these. 

By the time they say goodbye and Shuhua rejoins her parents at the table, the meal is done and neatly packed into take away containers. Her mother offers her a side glance as they leave the restaurant. It is a look that says something Shuhua does not understand. What it might be doesn’t seem to be important though as her mother offers her the smallest of the takeaway containers with an encouraging smile. In it are some of her favourite childhood treats. 

Her parents slip ahead, opting for a far less leisurely pace. Side by side, Shuhua regards how they walk: never quite touching yet never far apart. Everything about it feels like deja vu, as if time really hasn’t passed and she is still twelve, following her parents out of the restaurant. All that is missing is the banal bantering with her siblings as they argue over the box of take away treats.

As her parents reach the car, her father to the driver side and her mother to the passenger, Shuhua wonders if there was ever a time when it was different. A time when it wasn’t her father’s house and her mother’s kitchen. A time when-

The voice of her father echoes through the night air, beckoning her to hurry.

Shuhua sighs. 

So maybe she isn’t twelve anymore, running high on life, and dreaming of her future life abroad filled with bright lights and flashing cameras. No, now she is thirty and living that reality. Maybe how it all began was a little sudden; from the audition to the call back to flying out almost immediately. Maybe moving to Seoul at such a young age had cost her many of the familiarities her siblings, now as adults, share with their parents. It doesn’t take a genius to see the way her mother fawns over her more like the child she was rather than the adult she is, as if time stood still all those years apart. And though it aches in her chest, Shuhua isn’t blind to the way her father looks at her with an unfamiliarity in his eyes. There is love; it just is a distant sort of love that he does not have with her sisters. 

Settling into the back seat, Shuhua observes the desserts in her grasp. The strawberry treats her older sister loves and the pineapple cake her younger sister always seems to have stick out like sore thumbs. 

Everything has a price. 

Closing the lid of the container, Shuhua turns to watch the street lamps pass by, the corners of her lips curling skyward. Everything has a price, but if it meant receiving the same prize, Shuhua would gladly pay it all over again tenfold.

* * *

**_April 4, 2030_ **

Sleep is an arbitrary construct designed for people who lack true, fervent purpose. Or, maybe, that is the lie Shuhua tells herself to justify the exuberant energy coursing through her veins and the bags under her eyes. 

**“Dear?”** The voice of her mother is tender. 

If it were any other day, accompanied by the inviting smells of her mother’s kitchen, Shuhua might feel the weight in her bones, the pull on the lids of her eyes and the tendrils of sleep encroaching upon her consciousness. But it isn’t any other day and there isn’t anything that could possibly drive Shuhua to sleep. 

Well, there is one thing. 

**“Yeah?”** A glass of warmed soy milk and rice porridge are set in front of her. **“Ah, thank you.”**

In the middle of the table sits an assortment of savoury cakes and buns. Her father, seated at the other end, flips through the copy of the morning paper, his own breakfast half finished in front of him. 

**“You’re welcome.”** The way she moves about the kitchen is like a dance, effortless after years of practice. **“There will be food in the fridge for when you return.”** A creature of habit, Shuhua knows without a shadow of a doubt, the fridge will have enough food to feed a family of five. **“We’ll have dinner at six.”**

It is a reminder, not a request for confirmation: dinner has always been at six. 

**“Okay.”** The response is rhetorical. 

The silence that falls over the room is familiar. As a child, it had made Shuhua squirm. As an adult, it still makes her squirm, Shuhua is just marginally better at hiding it.

Shuhua opens the car door and tumbles in.

* * *

**“Are you excited?”**

He must be joking. 

Righting herself, Shuhua levels Su with a stare - eyes meeting in the reflection of the rear view mirror - that speaks volumes. She is not excited: Yeh Shuhua is vibrating in her seat giddy. The sort of giddy that often earned her reproach with netizens who prefer their idols painted in lies to hide their imperfections; contrived virtues that do not exist in reality. 

**“Excited? Are you-”** Shuhua gapes, **“That’s like asking if the sun is a star or if the moon affects the tide.”** Brows pinching in a furrow, she asks with genuine concern, “ **Was Wei-an up all night sick again?”**

Chuckling, Su shakes his head. **“Icebreaker?”** His smirk speaks of all the words he leaves in omission: of course he is joking, pointing out Shuhua’s obvious euphoria. 

**“Stick with your day job - your humour leaves much to be desired.”** The remark is dry with no hint of levity.

**“Oh, I know.”** Is the reply, blunt like the flat end of a hammer. **“When the baby moves too much, Wei-an makes me tell it a joke.”**

**“Your poor unborn child.”**

The silence that follows lasts for a moment before both break into laughter. It is warm, light hearted and filled with fond affection. 

**“Shall we?”**

Shuhua doesn’t need to be asked twice, buckling her seat belt with an excited nod. 

The conversation to the airport is light, filled with topics like what was for dinner and whether Wei-an has decided on a wall colour for the nursery yet. She hasn’t and the number of little green cards Su has had to tape to the wall is borderline disgusting. 

When Su starts talking about a book Wei-an is subtly hinting he read, Shuhua sees it for what it is - a distraction. Outside, the late morning traffic has come to a standstill. Whether it is an accident, sheer volume or spring time construction, Shuhua can’t tell. The traffic app doesn’t offer any insight either. 

With nowhere to go, the energy Shuhua has in abundance finds its way into the _tap tap_ tappings. Whether it is her fingers drumming against the sleeve of her hoodie or against the shell of the door, its rhythmic cadence is her only outlet. It is maddening but as the horns of traffic blare around them, Shuhua knows there is nothing Su can do to change this. Watching the clock change on the dash, Shuhua sighs. 

They’re late. 

By the time Shuhua can hear the planes overhead, she feels like her heart is about to explode. 

**“Shu-”**

It is close enough, the car in a _mostly_ parked state, when she opens the door and stumbles out. If it looks like something only a mad woman would do, it probably is, given the way she can hear Su cursing somewhere behind her. They’re close enough though and, with an apology thrown over her shoulder, Shuhua gathers her footing before sprinting in the direction of the signs that reads ‘Arrivals’. 

She isn’t fast or athletic by any stretch of the imagination but her athletic ability will do in a pinch. Five minutes is all it takes for Shuhua to arrive, hands on knees, panting and with a cramp forming in her side, at baggage claim.

The cue is long. The clock on the far wall and the circling luggage serve as a sore reminder of just how late she is. For a weekday afternoon, the crowd is awfully thick and it doesn’t help Shuhua’s search nor does her height or lack thereof.

Like the on off of a light switch, her vision vanishes, replaced by a darkness that is not the result of lack of oxygen. The material over her eyes come with instinctual alarm bells that ring in her head. This is where she gets kidnapped. Held for ransom. Sold into-

“Pabo,” The voice that speaks, soft but unmistakable amidst any crowd instantly quells all of her growing fears. “People can see you.” Shuhua breathes.

Adjusting the brim of what she now realises is a ball cap, Shuhua smiles brighter than the sun at the face she finds on the other side, “Hi.” It comes out like a breathy whisper. 

“Hi,” is the response she gets, muffled by a scarf that is certainly not appropriate for the midday heat. 

Before Shuhua can reach for it, tug it back to see the entirety of the features she knows more intimately than her own, a flash of light draws her attention. The roar of the heartbeat in her ears is replaced by voices calling her name. 

**“Yeh Shuhua!”**

Oh. 

**“Seo Soojin!”**

Well, that’s not very discrete.

**Author's Note:**

> May this find you well. 
> 
> Instead of planning how to build a green house, this is how I have been spending my time. Some call it procrastination, others call it art. Today, let's call it a minor hiccup.
> 
> If you want to design and build me a greenhouse though...


End file.
